


The Enchanted Witcher

by maned_wolf_girl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ciri knows what’s up, Ciri’s powers probably don’t work like this but oh well, M/M, True Love’s Kiss, Witch curses Geralt, Yen also knows what’s up, mentions of past Yen/Geralt I guess, post episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22720402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maned_wolf_girl/pseuds/maned_wolf_girl
Summary: “Yennefer, you can ask for tips at the next biweekly gathering of old hags, now what is wrong with Geralt?” he demanded, jaw clenched.Cirilla glanced at Jaskier, wishing he wouldn’t antagonize the woman they were trying to get help from. But she wanted to know, too, so she turned to Yennefer with a frown.Thankfully, Yen is just amused by Jaskier’s outburst. “She placed him under a sleeping spell,” she explained with a shrug.Before Jaskier could absolutely explode with impatience, Ciri grabbed his arm and spoke up. “How do we wake him?”Here, Yen finally softened. “Only True Love’s Kiss can awaken him, little one.”{Russian translation available}
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 496





	The Enchanted Witcher

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!! This is my first delve into Geraskier, inspired by yazuminkelei’s post on tumblr regarding a curse and how it unfolds. It gave me lowkey Enchanted vibes sooo that’s the title I gave it cuz I’m original lol.
> 
> I haven’t finished a fic in a long time and this is definitely the longest one-shot I’ve ever written. Ah, the power of Geraskier.
> 
> Hope you all like it! Geralt is probably hella OOC but I tried! Is this flawed? Yes, of course it is. But I'm happy with it overall. No beta, we die like men.
> 
> Also, here it is in Russian! https://ficbook.net/readfic/9336776 (Translated by Schwartz_Kaiser)

Sunlight shone down on the lovely, quiet town as the people in it went about their days. A woman walked down the street carrying a basket of laundry on her hip. Two children giggled relentlessly as they raced each other along the main road, weaving in and out of people in their way as if it were an obstacle course. A man had his son atop his shoulders and both of them were grinning.

A few paces away was another man, broad-shouldered and covered in thick, dark armor, kneeling before a little girl in front of a tavern. Her eyes were sad, but her face was hard, determined to stay strong.

“You must stay here while I go take care of this beast, Cirilla,” the man said, his gruff voice gentle despite the nature of its owner. He was speaking quietly, glancing briefly at the people passing by to make sure they weren’t too close and the girl’s identity remained hidden.

She let out a heavy breath that almost made Geralt laugh, but she agreed with a solemn nod. She wasn’t in control of her powers enough and Geralt didn’t want to be distracted during the fight.

“Okay, fine. Just... be careful.” She reached out and straightened his armor a bit, the grown-up gesture making him melt. He gave her a firm nod in return.

“Always.”

With that, he stood and gestured for her to go into the tavern. She offered him a small smile and a wave before slipping into the building. Now that he was sure she would be safe, Geralt turned and swung up onto Roach, heading off to the job.

The chatter from inside the tavern reached Ciri’s ears as soon as the door opened. Chewing her lip, she made her way over to a table in the corner. If Geralt were with her, it was the table he would’ve chosen. She was learning his habits already.

Sighing, she sat at the table with her back to the wall while she surveyed the area. After a moment, Ciri sagged against the wall, her lips pulling down into a frown. What was she going to do while Geralt was away?

Without any preamble, the floaty notes of a lute drifted through the tavern. Conversations lowered or stopped altogether as people focused their attention on the figure emerging from seemingly nowhere. His blue eyes were bright with mirth, his lips twisted into a charming smile.

Ciri must have entered between songs in this set, because the decoratively-dressed bard gave no introduction before launching into a jaunty tune that had most people stomping and singing along. The voice, shockingly familiar, pulled the incognito princess from her moping and caused her to perk up considerably.

Much to her delight, she spotted Jaskier weaving through the crowd, his lovely vocals twisting about in the afternoon air. A wide smile replaced her frown as she watched him work. She started stomping along to the song, recognizing it from when he would play at court.

Smoothly, he transitioned from song to song. Some she knew, some she didn’t. Thrown in the middle was a slow, haunting melody whose expression of heartbreak a young girl like her couldn’t quite understand. Something about the lyrics seemed familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Before she could linger too long, he was moving on.

Eventually, near the end of his set, Jaskier’s eyes found the young girl in the corner and they brightened. Even with her dye-darkened hair and her dirt-smeared face, he could recognize Princess Cirilla anywhere. He had always had a soft spot for the princess; he had checked in on her when Geralt refused to, though never overtly and always under the guise of performing for Queen Calanthe.

He finished one last song and thanked the crowd. Gathering up his coin, Jaskier made his way over to Ciri who looked excited to see him headed her way.

“Why hello there, Little Swallow!” he said with a flourish. She giggled, bright and happy.

“I’m Fiona.” She was quick to reply so he didn’t blow her cover, using the name she had chosen for herself when she first left Cintra, the way Geralt encouraged. The bard, as sharp as ever, caught on in a flash.

“Fiona! What a lovely name,” he greeted with a wink and a bow. They both knew he was aware of her true identity. It was nice to have someone else who knew who she truly was. None of the other patrons would think twice about a flamboyant bard greeting a young girl in this manner.

“And what, pray tell, are you doing here all alone?” His persona finally dissolved a little and he started to look nervous. Jaskier was admittedly worried that she wasn’t being looked out for, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting around, searching for the tell-tale hulking figure of Geralt of Rivia. As he shifted his weight, his bright smile faltered slightly. But Ciri pouted, bringing the bard’s attention back to the young princess.

“Geralt left me here to go fight a monster.” Her arms crossed over her chest and she huffed. Jaskier relaxed, thankful for the absence of the witcher, and sat himself across from her.

“Well then I suppose I’ll just have to keep you company in the meantime, hm?” he prompted, ducking his head to meet her eyes. His smile was contagious and soon enough hers was back on her face. She nodded, uncrossing her arms to lean on the table.

“So, what have you been up to since last we met?”

Time passed and they chatted with one another. Though, it was closer to Jaskier hearing about the adventure that Ciri finding Geralt had turned into than it was to mutual storytelling which Jaskier preferred anyway. She told him a little about their travels since, but Jaskier kept the conversation light and off of himself.

Though she loved Geralt, Ciri laughed more in the hour or so she spent talking to Jaskier than she had in a long while. The longer they talked, the more fond of Ciri Jaskier became; here was this sweet little girl with so much strength and wisdom hidden inside her young body. It was a marvel Geralt was able to keep away from her for so long.

Suddenly, she stiffened and stopped mid-sentence, her gaze moving to the door. Cautiously, tilting his head, he attempted to make eye contact.

“What’s wrong, Fiona?”

“Geralt. He’s in trouble.”

Jaskier froze, stiffening himself. He didn’t ask how she knew, didn’t even think to dissuade her from her worries; he was vaguely aware of the abilities the princess possessed. Instead, his mind whirled with the possibilities. Without actually thinking, Jaskier stood.

“I’ll go find him,” he declared with more confidence than he ought to have felt.

Ciri frowned and stood as well, declaring just as firmly, “I’m coming with you.” Before he could protest, she spoke again.

“You don’t even know which way he went.”

Which - okay, yeah, _fair_ , but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy needing her to come. Knowing when he was beaten, Jaskier sighed and nodded. She blinked and brightened as if surprised he actually agreed.

“But you’re staying out of whatever fight we come across, am I clear?” questioned the man, respecting her desire to help Geralt but needing her to be safe as well. Solemnly, she nodded.

He nodded as well, briefly moving away from her to pack up his lute and stow it behind the counter with his other belongings. The barkeep would watch his things.

“Let’s find your Witcher, shall we?” With that, he grabbed her hand and the two set off.

Ciri led them along with whatever sixth sense she had regarding Geralt. Whatever it was, Jaskier was thankful for it because it meant they’d find Geralt with relative ease.

Emphasis on _relative_.

The pair wandered about for far longer than either would’ve liked. Eventually, they started to hear the noises of battle. Happy to be following something concrete, Jaskier took the lead, moving forward faster than before.

As they grew closer to the crashes, they spotted Roach tethered to a tree. She looked nervous and was pulling at her lead, clearly unnerved by her inability to get to Geralt. They didn’t have time to soothe her, fear propelling them forward.

Just as they burst through the line of brush to stumble into the clearing, Geralt dove out of the way of a wyvern’s jaws. Various gashes litter his body and his armor looked haggard. The witcher saw movement out of the corner of his eye and thought it was another monster. His gaze whipped over and he froze at the sight of Ciri, momentarily distracted.

The wyvern, seeing Geralt’s divided attention, took its chance. Screeching, it lunged straight for his chest, its talons outstretched. Jaskier could do nothing except step forward, horrified.

Ciri, on the other hand, screamed.

The force of her magic unleashed a wave of power that pushed the beast back, momentarily stunning it. Recovering quickly, Geralt whirled on the creature, running it through with his steel blade. With one last cry, the wyvern collapsed. Geralt stood over its corpse, panting.

“Geralt,” Ciri yelled, relief in her voice as she ran to him. At least her scream hadn’t decimated everything in a mile radius as it had before.

Her small body collided with Geralt’s and he swayed just a bit under the impact, bloodied but mostly okay. He looked up to see Jaskier still standing at the edge of the clearing. Their eyes locked, entire conversations held within each of their depths, going unspoken. For now.

Ciri stepped away from Geralt and looked up at his face, the expression she saw there making her blink. Geralt opened his mouth.

Before Geralt could say anything, however, another figure crashed through the trees, wailing. The woman, old but radiating power, went straight to the wyvern, collapsing at its side.

“My baby,” she cried, tentatively touching its neck with shaking hands. Her eyes were wide with grief. Geralt gripped his sword tighter and pushed Ciri behind him. Jaskier stepped further into the clearing.

Finally acknowledging the others in the clearing, the woman spun around, magic crackling along her fingers.

“ _You_ ,” she spat, zeroing in on Geralt with his blood-soaked sword. The witcher only scowled under the scrutiny of the witch. “You killed my pet. My only love!”

“Your ‘only love’ was killing innocents,” he said with a grunt.

She was manic with grief, and his comment only made her more angry. She should’ve just killed him right there. Instead, she decided to make him suffer.

“For your heartlessness, I sentence you to a fate worse than death, _Witcher_.” She said it with as much venom as her wyvern once held. “Enjoy your nap.”

Quicker than anyone had time to react, the witch sent a blast of magic at Geralt, striking him directly in the chest. He crumpled to the ground without another sound, Ciri crying out and falling to her knees beside him.

Jaskier turned to the witch, whipping out the dagger he had stashed beneath his fancy doublet, and advanced on her. Finished with her punishment, she felt no need to stay. So, with a flick of her wrist, she transported herself and her dead wyvern away. Jaskier stood where she once was, fuming.

“Jaskier.” The quiet, worried voice of the princess drew his attention and he moved back over to the unconscious man, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. The witch had said ‘fate _worse_ than death,’ so Geralt must not actually be dead. Hesitating just a moment in the face of his dread, Jaskier knelt down and searched for Geralt’s pulse. Sure enough, it was slow but it was there. The speed wasn’t concerning, considering the fact that the witcher’s pulse tended to be slow. Breathing out, he stood again.

“I’ll be right back, Ciri. Stay here.” He trusted she wouldn’t wander. After her answering nod, he jogged back to where Roach was tethered. She was whinnying, low and distressed. Jaskier went over to her and calmed her as best and as quickly as he could. At the sight of a familiar face, the mare nickered and settled.

Once he was sure she wasn’t going to trample him, Jaskier untied her and brought her back to Geralt and Ciri. Once at her master’s side, Roach craned her neck down and snuffled at the unconscious man’s hair. She raised her head and threw her head up and down as if encouraging Jaskier to hurry.

Jaskier couldn’t help the small smile that curled his lips up, but it was tinged with sadness. “I’ll do my best, girl,” he told her, patting her neck. “You know I will.” A low rumble from the mare was his only reply.

Chewing his lip, Jaskier shuffled to the packs on Roach’s back and rifled through them until he found the case of Geralt’s potions. It had been a while since Jaskier had to help Geralt with anything like this, so he should be careful about which potions he used.

Ciri looked over at him as he knelt once more, her eyes scanning the case just as Jaskier’s do. She knew no more of the potions than Jaskier did. He grabbed a couple, inspecting them, but frowned when he found no labels. He recognized one that had a distinct, milky-yellow color. If he recalled correctly, this would help Geralt heal.

With a pop, the cork came out of the glass bottle. Sucking in a breath, Jaskier looked at Ciri and nodded at Geralt. Ciri quickly opened his mouth and tipped his head back so Jaskier could administer the thick liquid. Reflexively, Geralt swallowed.

Ciri sat back as she and Jaskier waited. They waited long after something should’ve happened before determining that nothing was going to.

Frustrated and growing more worried by the minute, Jaskier turned back to the case of potions, rifling through them again. He came across another he recognized and they tried that one as well. Again, nothing happened.

Heaving out a sigh, Jaskier packed the potions back up and returned them to the bag on Roach’s side. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked down at Geralt, brows furrowed as he tried to think of what to do next.

Abruptly, Ciri turned to him. “I could try my magic,” she suggested, eager to help. Jaskier chewed his lip and knelt next to her. Gently, he placed a hand on her back.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. I just gave him two potions and I already don’t know how they’ll interact with each other, let alone with your magic.” He sounded apologetic, as if it were his fault, but what he didn’t tell her was that he was also worried she wouldn’t be able to control whatever she did to Geralt. She might’ve made things worse, and then she would’ve never forgiven herself.

She accepted his answer with a nod. “It’s alright, Jaskier. You were only trying to help,” she assured him, pulling a weak smile out of the bard.

Something seemed to occur to the young girl just then, though. She perked up and grabbed Jaskier’s arm, reinvigorated by her idea.

“What about Yennefer? She’s a powerful mage; surely she can help!”

The mention of Yennefer made Jaskier’s blood run cold at the memory of the mountain but it only took him a second to realize that Ciri was right; Yen was their best bet. He had no idea how they’d track her down, but they would manage somehow. They had to.

Setting his features, Jaskier nodded. “Good idea.” He glanced at Roach, raising himself up.

As if she could understand every word being said, every glance being sent her way, the mare snorted. Roach folded her legs under her as she lowered herself to the ground, making it easier for Jaskier to heft Geralt’s considerable bulk across her saddle.

Once Geralt was secure, Roach stood once more, stomping a hoof indignantly. _“Let’s go,”_ she seemed to be saying. Shaking his head at the marvel that was that horse, Jaskier patted her side and grabbed Ciri’s hand.

“Well, you heard her.” He winked at Ciri, making her smile a little.

Together, they trudged their way back to the village so Jaskier could gather his things and they could draw up a plan for how to locate Yennefer.

As they passed a small house, the door swung open and out walked a woman in a long, dark dress. It took two looks for Jaskier to realize with was the very mage they were looking for, who had clearly arranged to stay in the town and earn some extra coin judging by the sign on the front of the cottage. The sight of her made Jaskier stop in his tracks.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be fucking joking,” he grumbled to himself. _Fa_ _te must really want Geralt and Yennefer together if all it took to find her was returning to the town we were all just in._ His thoughts were slightly bitter, but he truly was grateful they wouldn’t have to go on a wild goose chase to find her.

Ciri lit up at the sight of the sorceress. “Yennefer!” she chirped urgently. “We need your help!”

The two must have met previously because there was a certain warmth in Yennefer’s gaze as she registered who was talking to her. She tried to hide it, but Jaskier had spent years traveling with Geralt and so had become the master of reading subtle, barely-there expressions.

Yennefer’s violet gaze moved from Ciri, to Geralt’s figure draped across Roach’s back, to Jaskier standing tensely while holding the lead in one hand and Ciri’s in the other. She arched a brow.

“Bard,” she greeted.

“Witch,” he said in return.

With a flash of amusement, she turned away. She lifted her hand and made Geralt levitate off Roach’s back. The witcher floated behind Yennefer as she made her way to the door of the cottage she exited moments ago.

“Come along,” she encouraged dryly, magically pulling the reins from Jaskier’s hand and tethering them to the nearby post. Ciri dropped Jaskier’s hand and eagerly ran after the witch. The bard took a deep breath before following the two women.

When he got inside, Yennefer had Geralt on a bed in one of the rooms and Ciri was rapidly explaining what happened as the elder woman removed all the heavy, damaged armor and set it off to the side. Yen hummed thoughtfully, absentmindedly wondering if she knew the witch that cursed Geralt.

Yennefer closed her eyes, holding out both her hands as she probed his mind and body for the origins - and cure - of this curse. A tense few seconds of silence passed in which Jaskier shifted his weight multiple times and Ciri darted her eyes between Yen and Geralt.

When Yennefer finally found the source, she started honest-to-gods _cackling_. Her arms dropped and she doubled over. Jaskier narrowed his eyes and Ciri’s brows drew low over her eyes.

“Oh I really must find this witch and commend her,” she said as she was wiping away tears that weren’t actually there. The bard felt his anger rising.

“Yennefer, you can ask for tips at the next biweekly gathering of old hags, now _what is wrong with Geralt_?” he demanded, jaw clenched.

Cirilla glanced at Jaskier, wishing he wouldn’t antagonize the woman they were trying to get help from. But she wanted to know, too, so she turned to Yennefer with a frown.

Thankfully, Yen is just amused by Jaskier’s outburst. “She placed him under a sleeping spell,” she explained with a shrug.

Before Jaskier could absolutely explode with impatience, Ciri grabbed his arm and spoke up. “How do we wake him?”

Here, Yen finally softened. “Only True Love’s Kiss can awaken him, little one.” The old witch must have figured her curse was going to keep Geralt asleep forever, considering the commonly-held ‘knowledge’ that Witchers had no feelings. Anyone who knew Geralt would know that wasn’t the case, as much as he tried to deny it.

Immediately, Ciri’s brows furrowed as the cogs started turning. Jaskier, however, felt drained. Wonderful, so he’d have to watch Yennefer kiss Geralt awake and then the two of them would take Ciri and all three of them would ride off together, leaving Jaskier alone. Again.

Yennefer was looking at Jaskier with an arched brow and he couldn’t quite decipher the expression. Shaking it off, he sucked up his pride and straightened. For Geralt. Besides, the witcher had made it very clear how he felt about Jaskier the last time they had seen each other.

“Well then, Yennefer. Go on,” he muttered, gesturing to the unconscious man situated in the bed. Ciri looked back at the two conscious adults, glancing between them hopefully. Yennefer was just staring at Jaskier, looking almost confused, as her brows pulled in just the slightest.

“It’s not going to work,” warned the woman, violet eyes piercing.

Jaskier misread her hesitance as not believing their connection was strong enough. “Look, I know you two have a complicated history, but... Fate has tied you together for a reason.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. _“Actually, Geralt himself tied us together,”_ she wanted to say, but didn’t. Ciri watched Jaskier, intrigued by his tone.

Yennefer sighed though, knowing the bard wouldn’t give up until she proved it wasn’t going to do anything coming from her. If she had to _show_ him, then so be it. Gracefully, she made her way to the bed. Ciri moved closer, grabbing hold of Jaskier’s hand. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, though he swallowed thickly. He believed this would work, but that didn’t mean it’d hurt any less.

With one last glance at the expectant pair, Yennefer turned to Geralt. Carefully, she leaned over the bed and placed a brief kiss to his lips before standing straight and taking a step back. Ciri watched with bated breath, her emerald eyes wide with faint hope. Jaskier, silent and stiff by her side, almost didn’t _want_ to look.

Seconds ticked by. A minute. Nothing.

Jaskier deflated. Ciri frowned. Yennefer shrugged.

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” the sorceress said simply. Jaskier threw her a sharp look, dismay taking over.

“Now what are we to do?” he quietly asked the room as his eyes fell back on Geralt. He let go of Ciri’s hand and stepped closer to the prone figure on the bed, his mind racing. How could they fix this? Who else could it even be? Would they just need to form a line of every maiden in the realm to come and try their hand?

His spiraling thoughts prevented him from seeing the thoughtful expression on the face of the youngest occupant of the room as she studied him. Even if she was unable to hear the cacophony in his mind, she could still read his body language.

“Why don’t _you_ kiss him, Jaskier?”

Two pairs of eyes flicked over to the Lion Cub of Cintra, one blue and shocked, the other violet and approving.

The bard spluttered for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest but then quickly uncrossing them, his hands coming to rest at his hips the way they tended to when he was flustered.

“I know you want him to wake, Little Swallow, but there’s no need to be desperate.” There was a chuckle in his voice, though it was weak and his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Ciri looked like she was more certain the longer she gazed at him, determination hardening her features.

“I’m not. Yennefer has tried, it didn’t work, and now it’s your turn.” What she didn’t tell him was that Geralt had told her of Jaskier, explained generally what happened, how much he regretted pushing him away. What she didn’t tell him was that she had seen the sad fondness in his eyes, could see the _care_ in Jaskier’s eyes just then, despite how much the bard was trying to ignore it.

Weakly, Jaskier shook his head. After all, True Love had to come from both sides, didn’t it? Jaskier knew - had known for quite some time now - that he was in love with Geralt. The White Wolf, however, had never once even admitted they were friends, let alone given any indication that he had harbored any feelings for the eccentric musician beyond annoyance. No, there was no way this would work.

But Ciri was looking at him, gaze pleading even as she tried to put on a brave face. She was scared. Jaskier’s heart still ached from the words thrown at him in anger on that mountainside, true, but that didn’t mean he thought Geralt deserved to be stuck like that for eternity. People needed him. _Ciri_ needed him.

So, he slumped in defeat, his hands falling to his sides. Yennefer was still quiet, watching the scene unfold before her.

He stood before Geralt’s bed, eyes fluttering in a blink as he looked down at the man whose typically tense face was now slack with magically induced sleep. In a display of affection he had been longing to show since knowing the brusque Witcher, Jaskier swiped a thumb along the other man’s smooth cheek. Despite the scars littering the man’s body, his skin was soft to the touch.

Letting out a breath, Jaskier murmured, “Here goes nothing,” and leaned down.

Ciri looked less nervous. Yennefer looked certain. Jaskier was terrified.

As he closed the gap, the bard closed his eyes as well. He gave Geralt a gentle kiss, lingering at the feeling of his lips touching Geralt’s with no immediate fallout. Gods, had he dreamed of this.

Cheeks heating once more, Jaskier stood up and opened his eyes. He cleared his throat and stepped back, gaze locked on Geralt so he didn’t see Ciri’s small smile or Yen’s soft eyes.

There was silence for a beat. Two. Jaskier felt as though his heart was so loud it was vibrating the room. His heart fractured as Geralt remained unresponsive. He forced a laugh out of his throat, but it was a poor facsimile. He turned away, attempting to pick up the pieces of his heart while trying not to cry.

“There you have it. I told you it wouldn’t work with me, eith-“

A grunt. A beautifully familiar grunt.

“Geralt!” The relief and joy of a child, followed by a scuffle and the creak of the bed, reached Jaskier’s ears.

Jaskier was frozen for a moment. He looked at Yennefer who was looking back at him, smug. She tipped her chin up and looked behind him. Turning on his heel, he looked to find Geralt sitting up, Ciri’s arms wrapped around his neck. Geralt looked a little confused, but there was a small smile on his lips as he returned the embrace.

“Ciri.”

She pulled back, eyes bright, and then she looked at Jaskier. Geralt finally looked up, taking in the other occupants of the room. First, his eyes found Jaskier and the gold within his irises _burned_. Tearing his gaze away, he looked at Yen and stiffened.

“Yennefer,” he greeted cordially, inclining his head. “I assume you cured me?” He sounded... uncomfortable, as if he didn’t want to be indebted to the sorceress. Amusement danced in her eyes.

“Actually, you can thank your bard for that.”

Geralt looked back at Jaskier, gaze tender, if a bit confused. Jaskier swallowed and shifted. “Yennefer helped,” he offered thinly, shrugging, which earned him an eye roll from the woman. Ciri was just looking between them all, grinning widely.

“Geralt, you’ll never believe what that witch did to you! It was just like in the fairytales my grandmother used to read me. My favorite was the one about the frog, but the one with the sleeping warrior princess was just as good.” Now that Geralt was safe from harm, Ciri found it in herself to ramble away like the young girl she was at heart beneath the horrors brought upon her.

Geralt just blinked, looking down at her. Jaskier could feel his heart rate elevate even as Yennefer stifled another bout of cackles.

“It was True Love’s Kiss! _That’s_ what woke you.”

Geralt fell silent and Jaskier looked away, not wanting to see his face. After all, perhaps True Love’s Kiss didn’t have to be requited. Maybe Jaskier’s love alone was enough.

If Jaskier had been looking, if he had been as close as Ciri was, he would’ve seen the way Geralt melted. He would’ve heard the quiet, rumbling hum. He would’ve felt the heavy thud of the witcher’s slow heart in his chest. But he wasn’t. Only Ciri witnessed it all, and it made her grin widen.

Yen broke the silence. “I should be going.” Despite the fact that this house was originally intended to be her residence for a week or so, she figured the three of them might require it more. Besides, she could always move on to another town. She held no real connection to this one in particular.

Ciri frowned and detached herself from Geralt, who was still silent. Yen looked between the two men: Geralt, who stared at Jaskier; Jaskier, who stared at the floor. She suppressed another eye roll and turned to Ciri.

“Thank you,” said the little princess, face content and relaxed once more. Yennefer sent her a warm smile.

“I did not do it, little one.”

Ciri pursed her lips as if thinking this over. “True, but we wouldn’t have known what to try if you hadn’t been here.”

Conceding the point, Yen dipped her head. “Happy to be of service.”

Thoughtfully, she watched Ciri for a moment before looking at the two men who still hadn’t moved. “Cirilla, would you like to come with me a moment? I have something I want to tell you.”

Geralt finally tore his gaze from the bard, his eyes flashing a warning as they settled upon the sorceress. She returned his gaze, just as fierce. _“I will not harm the child. Speak to your bard,”_ she projected into his mind. Her intentions were half so she could teach Ciri how to summon her if she were needed again, and half so Geralt and Jaskier could actually have a moment to talk without the child around. Geralt merely grunted, though he made no move to stop her.

Jaskier, too, looked over at her. “Thank you, Yennefer,” he said sincerely, even daring to smile at her.

She smiled back and dipped her head. After looking back at Geralt one last time, Ciri left out the door with Yennefer. It clicked shut and the two men were bathed in silence.

They stood - and sat - in silence for a while, Jaskier kicking at the floor. Suddenly, both started to talk at the same time.

“Geralt, I-“

“Jaskier-“

Jaskier huffed out a laugh, finally letting his shoulders drop, as Geralt smiled faintly.

“You first,” said Jaskier as he turned to the witcher, eyes bright and attentive. “Since you... didn’t get much of a say earlier.” Talking about it brought a fresh dusting of pink to his cheeks and he looked away, frivolously straightening his doublet.

Geralt grunted thoughtfully and Jaskier looked up to see Geralt move to the edge of the bed and beckon him to sit. Inhaling nervously, Jaskier did as he was asked and perched on the edge of the bed. He glanced at the White Wolf momentarily before averting his gaze. The bard’s fingertips tingled with the reminder of what it felt like to touch Geralt’s face and he quickly stuffed them between his knees like a child told to sit on his hands by his mother.

It took a moment for Geralt to talk, his eyes busy scanning the nervousness that radiated off of his old friend. And suddenly, he knew where to begin.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier.”

Shocked, Jaskier looked at the taller man, his eyes wide. He saw a certain fondness there when he looked.

“What in gods’ names do you have to apologize for?” he asked with a little huff of laughter.

Geralt tilted his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up just the slightest bit.

“I’m sorry for what I said on the mountain; I was frustrated with everything that was happening so I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that, you never did.” His voice was its usual low rumble and Jaskier had to hold back the shudder that was threatening to roll its way down his body.

“I’m also sorry for treating you like shit all those years you traveled with me. You were... well, you were the only person to believe in me for a long time,” he murmured, looking down for a brief moment before he lifted his eyes to meet Jaskier’s.

Jaskier is surprised, to say the least, though not unpleasantly so. He had been longing to hear those words from Geralt for as long as he had known him.

“It was shitty, but I hadn’t really realized just how much... how much you meant to me until you were gone. You were a true friend. Still are, I hope.” In the history of Witchers, Jaskier didn’t think one ever felt bashful, yet here they were.

The human could almost see how much Geralt was struggling to get these words out, but that only made them mean more. Warmth blossomed in Jaskier’s chest and it was like the two never parted ways, like they hadn’t spent the last couple years apart due to more than just circumstance.

Every single reason Jaskier loved Geralt came flooding back, though he suspected they never left.

Jaskier only realized how long he had been silent when he saw Geralt’s face shift just the slightest bit to be more concerned. Blinking away his frozen state, Jaskier shot Geralt a blinding smile.

“Fatherhood has made you sentimental, old friend,” he teased, though there was a halo of a happiness surrounding him. Geralt gave a bigger smile. Jaskier’s voice softened. “Of course I forgive you.”

There was a beat of silence in which _something_ crackled in the air between them. Jaskier swallowed and, feeling like he was unable to breathe under the pressure settled on his chest, blurted out some half-joke.

“As long as we’re giving out apologies, I suppose I should give you one for kissing you without your permission earlier. Ciri can be quite persuasive. And besides, I didn’t want to just _leave_ you unconscious; too many people need you. So even though that ‘True Love’s Kiss’ stuff is likely utter rubbish, I needed to at least _try_ , so-“

“-Ask me now,” Geralt said firmly, interrupting Jaskier’s bumbling rambles. They locked eyes.

“Wh-What?” asked Jaskier through nervous laughter, unable to look away. Geralt leaned almost imperceptibly closer.

“Ask me now that I can give an answer.” There was a challenge resting in Geralt’s amber gaze and something like anticipation. Jaskier found himself near-breathless.

“May I kiss you, Geralt?” The way Geralt’s name slid off Jaskier’s tongue, thick and heavy, made the witcher’s heart clench. Gods, they had been apart too long.

“C’mere,” he grunted, gently fisting Jaskier’s doublet, and pulled the bard toward him.

Despite Geralt tugging Jaskier in, the two came together slowly, eyes half-lidded. Jaskier hesitated a moment when they were no more than an inch apart, not quite believing this was happening; not quite believing Geralt wanted to kiss him. Geralt let out a low, rumbling hum but didn’t push Jaskier faster than the bard wanted to go. Jaskier couldn’t help but smile.

Finally, blissfully, he closed the distance as their eyes fluttered shut.

The touch of their lips was feather-light at first, sweet and tentative and holding the promise of something more. Geralt moved first, his hand releasing Jaskier’s shirt and trailing up to cup his face. Jaskier pulled back just the slightest bit only to connect their lips again at a slightly different angle. Geralt’s thumb ran along the bard’s jaw, pulling a slight shiver out of him.

Jaskier’s own hand rose to Geralt’s chest, right above his heart, and he bunched some of the fabric of the loose tunic in his fist. He kissed Geralt like his own lips were the sea and Geralt’s were the shore. Geralt would flip that analogy: Jaskier had always steadied his tumultuous nature.

After a few deeper kisses, the two men pulled away. Jaskier kept their foreheads touching and kept his eyes closed for a handful of heartbeats. With a _hm_ and a swipe of his thumb across Jas’ cheek, Geralt pulled back further. A spike of worry shot through Jaskier and he opened his eyes, expecting to find regret or disgust on the other man’s face, only to find Geralt watching him with burning amber eyes full of affection and warmth.

Jaskier let out a breathy chuckle, eyelashes fluttering with relief. Their hands remained touching one another.

“Geralt, I... I love you.” He stuttered only slightly, but he meant the words with every fiber of his being. He didn’t expect Geralt to say it back, even if the witcher did just prompt them to kiss, he just figure he should actually say it.

Geralt softened and his other hand came to cover Jaskier’s on his chest, holding it there firmly. “True Love’s Kiss is no fairy tale, Jaskier,” he said in response, the barest hint of a tender smile tugging up at the corners of Geralt’s mouth.

Jaskier blinked.

“And it must be felt both ways.”

Jaskier blinked again.

“Are you saying-“

“I love you, too. Even if you do annoy me half to death most days,” muttered the White Wolf with playful exasperation, “I would rather have you by my side than push you away again.”

Jaskier laughed again, lighter this time, though almost disbelieving. “Cirilla truly has been good for you. I’m glad you found her.”

“She has made me realize that even Witchers need people. More than that, she made me realize that I knew that when you were traveling with me, but I was too stubborn to accept it.” Geralt looked away momentarily at this confession as his hands returned to his lap, ashamed once again for hurting his only friend at the time - thought he still didn’t move further away.

Jaskier smiled softly and his own hand lifted from Geralt’s chest to guide Geralt’s face back to his. Reflexively, their gazes met like magnets unable to stay away. He let his face be open, let Geralt read the love and admiration and forgiveness he wanted to convey. It must be successful, because Geralt’s shoulders loosened.

Unable to stop himself now that he knew he was free to do it, Jaskier leaned in again and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s lips. Geralt happily returned the gesture. Jaskier gave a soft, pleased hum before breaking away and staring into his Witcher’s eyes.

“Shall we go find the little one?” he suggested reluctantly, tucking a strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear. No one had ever touched the mutant so gently, so effortlessly, and it made his chest tighten with love for the bard.

It was tempting to just stay in the room and kiss over and over, but he knew proper introductions had to be made between Jaskier and Ciri. Besides, he didn’t know what Yennefer was telling the girl. Best to find them before Ciri learned how to turn men into toads. Perhaps one day she would need to know how to do it, but for now Geralt wanted to keep her as innocent as possible.

“Hm,” he hummed in agreement, Jaskier’s eyes lighting up as soon as he realized he could still decipher the various grunts and groans of his Witcher.

“Come on, then,” he said cheerily, standing and tugging Geralt up by their newly-entwined hands.

“This will make for such a wonderful ballad! A crazed, grief-stricken witch casting a curse to only be lifted by True Love’s Kiss for a Witcher assumed to be heartless!” rambled the bard as he dragged Geralt out the door. There were stars in his eyes as he began to think up a new song. “True Love prevailed in the end. Not even Witchers are immune.”

Geralt rolled his eyes at the antics of the man he missed so dearly and loved so deeply - though, of course he wouldn’t complain. He would just continue to follow his bard. First, to Ciri. Then, to the ends of the earth.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like that ended in a weird place but oh well!
> 
> A few things that maybe need to be cleared up for you guys. One, the sad, slow song Jaskier sang in the beginning was “Her Sweet Kiss.” Two, about the fairytale things, I figured Calanthe would put a spin on the tales she told Ciri, hence “warrior princess.”
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
